


I'm captivated by you, baby.

by Hermione_is_my_bae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Redeemed Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermione_is_my_bae/pseuds/Hermione_is_my_bae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life seems to throw Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy together quite often; a collection of their experiences. (Obviously, thanks and recognition are given to the wonderful JK Rowling for supplying the characters of the piece)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy, free, confused & lonely, (In the best way).

Dishevelled hair dripping, and slender frame trembling under her thin, sodden clothes, the lonely figure rapidly ascended the slippery incline. Dusk had descended already, and with the ground ensconced in night’s murky darkness, the petite brunette inwardly hoped that she’d be able to slip into the magnificent building ahead of her unseen. Her shivering seeming to intensify, she wrapped her nimble arms around herself tightly, privately dreaming of a soft blanket, musty book, hot, steaming cup of cocoa, and the comforting silence of the Head Boy and Girl’s common room.

Approaching the castle, she became aware of an almost offensively loud din emitting from within, and all four wishes abruptly disappeared from her mind. The party was in full swing, and she had little doubt that no matter how hard she tried to secretly scarper – lock herself away in her dormitory – she would be spotted by someone. She would promise them she’d be right down, and would have little choice but to follow through in that promise. She couldn’t blame her peers for their craving of a good time – their recent past had seen the burial of many of their friends, their families – but she couldn’t evoke the same desire within herself. No matter how hard she tried to be enthusiastic, and push aside the nightmares of that battle, she regularly found herself woken by her own screams, or was forced to excuse herself from conversations as the overwhelming need to cry, and an inability to breath presented itself.

As she drew closer, she became acutely aware of the different soundtracks the castle interior was radiating – bass-filled muggle music mixed itself in with the sultry tones of Celestina Warbeck and the pitched shrieking of Lorcan d’Eath. Only in Hogwarts would the three seem to complement one another. Bracing herself, she entered the castle.

***

The immediate sights that met her were unsurprising. Interior fireworks, (she realised later with a twinge of sadness that these had probably been purchased at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes), random sparks of different colours – some of which she was certain she’d never even seen before – a vast array of food on plates and buffet tables that seemed to dance their way around the room, a great multitude of _intimate_ , inter-house tête-à-têtes… and a great number of professors ignoring them. 

Uniforms had been neglected tonight, and Hermione felt exposed navels, denim-clad arms, and leather buttocks push by her as she attempted in vain to imperceptibly slip her way through the pulsing hive of students. She caught the gaze of a wide-eyed Luna, seemingly donned in a dress of crocheted red and gold yarn, and a necklace made of newt eyes, but she cast only a vague smile at Hermione, apparently lost in the moment. A flushed Cho seemed just as disinterested, her graceful arms wrapped around Dean Thomas, their lips locked together. It was only when a smiling Neville – still wearing _that_ cardigan – disentangled himself from an embrace with a dazed-looking Hannah Abbot, gestured for Hermione to stop, and meandered his way through the crowd, that Hermione’s mouth-watering progress to her cocoa was halted. He approached her merrily.   
“Hermione!” He exclaimed, his gentle voice almost lost in the mass of noise that filled the room, “Where have you been? Did the interview go well?”  
Hermione nodded, reminding herself to smile. Her meeting with Annaelia Dusselborf this morning had been successful; she was guaranteed a job at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when she finished at Hogwarts, Ms Dusselborf had nodded in agreement when she’d gushed about her efforts with SPEW, and better still, she hadn’t been put off when Hermione had cried over a careless reference to ‘ _that tragic Weasley boy’_. Neville spoke suddenly, bringing her back to reality.  
“Good. I was hoping so – I was worried I’d have to send the department some venomous tentacula otherwise.” He smiled briefly at his joke, “Have you seen Harry? He’s been looking for you.” She shook her head. “Well…” Neville began, “I’ll tell him I saw you, if they come looking for you again. Speak to you later? When you’ve had a chance to get changed?” He seemed to be looking for confirmation, and she smiled wanly in return, patting him on the back as he turned and made his way back to Hannah.

***

Relishing in her final few moments of sullenness before she would have to once more take on the role of Gryffindor’s sweetheart, Hermione frowned, her brow furrowed, as she clambered out of the common room, almost tripping over her own foot in the process.

She looked good. She knew she looked good. A drying spell had wringed her hair of its moisture, and although she was confident in her ability to tame what she often viewed as an unruly mess, she’d left it in its natural state; it was almost leonine in nature, and she felt this to be apt – perhaps others would construe it as a show of Gryffindor enthusiasm . Her plain, muggle cosmetics bag had transformed her stressed, blotchy visage into a flawless work of art. Her red – it had to be red – dress exploited her willowy frame, emphasising her small waist, and her long, svelte legs. She hoped silently that this change in exterior would brighten her interior.

Making her way down the grand staircase – thankful that she hadn’t opted to wear heels – she mused on the lack of success between her and Ron. The way that every hug had ended in melancholy sighs, that every kiss had ended in tears, that every attempt at anything further had ended in long, harrowing discussions of the corpses of their slain friends. It was sad; the relationship had been bubbling for so long, and yet seemed to have evaporated almost instantly. They’d stayed friends, and as such she’d been forced to watch as Ron made his way through hordes of her schoolmates, all eager to try and fix the brave but broken Ronald Weasley. Lavender Brown had been the first of course – _how fun_ it had been to relive their snogging fests – then had come Megan Jones, Susan Bones, and Katie Bell. Hermione had no idea if Katie had managed to sate him this long, or if they’d broken it off like the others.

***

Her question was answered on her return to the great hall, where she found Ronald wrapped around Alicia Spinnet, and Harry stood to one side, awkwardly attempting to ignore both their tryst, and the swarm of girls that seemed to be eying him up from across the room. She smiled sympathetically at Harry, knowing there was little she could say to him that hadn’t been said in the past weeks, and he nodded in return.  
“You were looking for me?” He nodded again.  
“Trying to warn you about those two –”, he shifted his gaze briefly towards the embracing pair, “- before you saw them. Didn’t want you to get hurt – or, or something…” The last portion of his sentence trailed off as he caught sight of Hermione shaking her head. A little too readily, her eyes a little too bright.  
“Well… if you need to – to talk – or anything – anything like that. You can. I’m here.” She nodded.  
“I know. But it’s fine. I’m fine.” She paused. “I just. I need to go and get a drink.” She didn’t wait to hear his too-concerned reply, didn’t need to get dragged into a conversation about how her and Ron should give it another try. She removed herself from the disjointed group of four, losing herself in the crowd.

***

She _did_ amble her way towards one of the many drinks tables floating around the room, shakily pouring herself a tot of firewhisky and silently criticising herself for being so affected by the sight of Ron with another girl. She wondered whether it was motivated by unresolved feelings, or simply frustration at Ron for moving on so quickly, and soon decided that it was the latter of the two.

Yes, that was right. Whilst she has stayed in her bedroom all term, venturing out only to request more reading material from professors, and to give in set homework, he had been busily inter-house mingling. She’d heard from other students – always _so_ willing to dish the dirt on her failure of a relationship – that he’d slept with five students since they’d called it off. That was their choice, of course, and she didn’t judge the girls.

But she judged him.

He’d given the impression that she was ‘the one’. That she was all he ever thought about; all he ever _would_ think about. And these flings, they negated any sense of that being true.

Hermione felt herself getting more and more worked as sips turned into glasses. Felt her hands begin to tremble; her face begin to redden.

Then, the moving in the stomach. The shifting feeling she’d only felt once before. Withdrawing quickly from the hall, she darted as swiftly as she could back to the common room.

***

She made it. Just.  
Her humid hair stuck flatly to her sweaty forehead as she wretched emptily, her body over her lavatory. When she was done, and all that was left of the firewhisky was the burning acidic trace in her throat, she forced herself up, and glanced in the gilded bathroom mirror.

Somehow, her nausea had only aided to improve her appearance. Her clammy perspiration had added a somewhat sheening quality to her face, and she looked almost radiant. Her eye makeup was smudged, but not in a fell-asleep-without-washing fashion, more a I-work-hard-to-look-this-grunge fashion. Her lack of perfection somehow aided her attraction.

A knock at the door distracted her. Her heart sank.

Malfoy. He’d been appointed head boy, and shared the quarters with her. It could only be him.

It wasn’t that she disliked Malfoy. Not only did the holding of grudges seem childish in light of recent events, but Draco had consistently proven himself to be a changed man. He’d apologised at the beginning of term for ever uttering that dreaded M word, and following the mandatory therapy he’d been made to attend, he’d used some of the money left to him by his (presumed dead) father to set up a compensation account, paying for school items for those whose families had been destroyed by his former allies. Hermione had even heard that he was tutoring a Hufflepuff recently.

But this new Malfoy – pleasant as he seemed – was not someone Hermione knew. He was a stranger to her. Awful as he had been previously, at least she’d known where she stood with him.  Now, he just stimulated feelings of awkwardness and uncertainty, and for that reason she’d done her best to avoid being alone with him. She scrambled hastily for the mouthwash, yelling brightly,  
“I’ll be out in a minute, Mal – Draco. Just – uhm – freshening up!” She swilled the minty liquid until it stung the inside of her mouth, burning her throat just as fiercely as her vomit had, and opened the door.

Malfoy – Draco – whatever he was going by, stood expectantly outside the door. His white-blonde hair was slicked back, his slender body dressed in dark denim jeans, black cotton shirt, and Slytherin green tie. His hands lay placidly by his side, and etched into his forehead was an emotion Hermione had never before seen on the boy in front of her. Concern.

“Are you okay?” His voice was smooth – providing the odd sensation of being dipped in melting chocolate – and now that she was no longer at odds with him, she was able to appreciate the beauty of it. “I heard – well – I _think_ I heard –“  
“It was nothing.” Hermione hurriedly reassured him, her cheeks reddening, “Someone hexed me or something, I think.” His silvery eyes widened at this, alarm evident in his steel gaze, and it took Hermione a moment to comprehend why.  
“Oh no! Nothing like that. No, no, I’m quite sure it was just a silly joke, Malfoy – Draco, I mean! Sorry! It was – I was…” She trailed off, having sufficiently embarrassed herself. He looked hurt.  
“Look... I’ve tried hard. I’ve _really_ tried hard to put the past behind me,” he hesitated momentarily, “Hermione.”

His voice, her name, it stirred something within her. She wasn’t sure how to name it, this fluttering in her stomach, dazedness in her mind. She’d felt it before with Ron though. That, she was sure of.  
“I know, Draco. I know you have. I’m sorry. It’s just difficult to get used to this. You…” She lingered momentarily, before concluding with confidence, “Us.” He paused, glancing up at her in surprise, feeling for the significance. She gazed innocuously back.  
“Us? What ‘us’? We don’t talk, Hermione. I barely see you. I wasn’t even sure if it was _you_ I was going to find in here.” He seemed bemused, Hermione noted, but not disgusted. That was good. This was good. She’d be good. As good as Ron and Alicia, anyway. That was all she needed, for now. It’d sate both the blazing rage – at Ron, at Alicia – _and_ the blossoming butterflies that were emerging in her stomach. She took a step closer to Draco. He remained where he was.  
“There _could_ be an us, Draco. We could be an us. We fit. Just think about it! Head boy and head girl. Victims – heroes – of the war.” She smiled what she hoped was a seductive smile at him. When he didn’t reply, she took another step closer. She was _so_ close to him. She could smell him – his hair smelt of apples, sweet, and enticing – and she could _feel_ the heat radiating off his lean body. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, quickening in anticipation; hear the rapid intake of breath as he realised what was happening. She wanted to _taste_ him. She parted her lips. He looked at her worriedly.

Promptly, Hermione Granger vomited on the expensive, suede shoes of Draco Malfoy.

***

Draco held back the hair of the shaking girl in front of him as she vomited until it seemed there was nothing _left_ to vomit. He patted her back consolingly as she uttered out sincere, quiet apologies, told her there was nothing wrong, that she was alright, he would stay with her.

When it was finished, he watched as she wiped her face, brushed her teeth, and he – slowly, and very cautiously – lifted up Hermione’s trembling frame, and carried her over to the leather sofa of their shared common room. He placed her down tentatively, and smiled encouragingly as she looked up.  
“I’m sor-” she began to mumble, before he placed a pale, spindly finger over her moist lips.  
“It’s fine, Hermione. I was going to throw them out anyway. They were getting old.” He glanced dubiously towards the bin, where his spoiled day-old shoes lay amongst empty cartons of pumpkin juice, and chocolate frog boxes. She shivered, and he effortlessly gestured towards his dormitory, summoning his bed covers. He bundled her under his Slytherin duvet, placing her head atop his pillow. She smiled gently.  
“Will you sleep with me?” His eyes once more alarmed, she realised her mistake, and hastened to correct herself, “I mean, in this room. Stay with me until I fall asleep?” He nodded reassuringly, glancing at his watch. He was supposed to have met Pansy ten minutes ago, but he wasn’t overly bothered about keeping the arrangement, and he didn’t suppose she was either. They had drifted towards each other before because of family arrangements, and now that his father was gone, the bonds that held them were no longer there. They had continued meeting out of habit. He positioned himself in the armchair across from Hermione, lighting the fire wordlessly. He watched her tenderly.  

When it seemed Hermione was on the verge of sleep, her eyes fluttered momentarily open, and tiredly, she mumbled,  
“Sorry, Draco. I _am_ sorry.” He shook his head once more, exasperatedly,  
“It’s fine, Hermione. It’s fine.” This time, she shook her head, seemingly as his miscomprehension.  
“No, Draco. Not about your _shoes_!” She giggled carelessly – he wasn’t certain he’d ever heard Hermione giggle before, “I’m sorry for the – the kiss. I tried to kiss you.” He sat silently, unsure as what to say, and she continued. “I just – I saw Ron and Alicia Spinnet earlier. They were together.”

So that was it. He exhaled briefly, but was unable to distinguish the cause – relief or disappointment. Inwardly, he’d earlier acknowledged the quickening of his pulse and the stirring in his underwear that he’d felt when she’d leant into him, full, even lips parted. It had been short-lived, evidently. But it’d left him feeling confused; in much the same way Hermione was now able to appreciate _his_ finer points, he’d recently found himself admiring the stubborn, take-no-prisoners perseverance that marked all of this woman’s pursuits, and _now_ a physical attraction. Her words made him almost glad; it didn’t matter how he felt. Weasley had moved on, and she wanted to move on too. That was it. Nothing to read into.

She continued.

“And I wanted to move on too. And – and I realised when you came to – to _save_ me – that I want to move on _with you_. You’re really quite lovely, Draco. You’re really quite – quite erogenous.” She said this last part matter-of-factly, as though bemused he didn’t already know this. He stared. He licked his lips, suddenly realising how dry they were.  
“How drunk _are_ you, Granger?” Her surname didn’t carry the same serpentine venom in this instance than it had previously, but instead, a sense of fondness. She smiled knowingly.  
“It’s the truth!” She protested, slurring slightly, “I’m not just making it up because I’ve – had some for-firewhisky!” Her eyes danced; her smile kept up with them. He nodded patiently.  
“Are you drunk enough that you’ll remember this tomorrow?” She shrugged, apparently not comprehending the question. He sighed. Fingers crossed.  
“Well, I hope you are _that_ drunk. Because – because what I’m about to tell you, is very, _very_ secret –“ he paused, and she replied with a finger to her lips, a childish utterance of ‘ _shhh!_ ’. He mirrored the gesture, and cleared his throat before continuing.  
“You’re quite lovely too, Hermione. And whilst, whilst you might not seem it when you smell so strongly of – well, what you smell like right now – you’re quite ‘erogenous’ too.” He marvelled at the formality of her chosen descriptor, erogenous appearing almost laughable, and carried on. “And. _And_ , Hermione, I wish that there _was_ an us.”

He glanced down, grinning faintly. His eyes met the sleeping form of Hermione Granger, a small smile on her perfect face. Sighing, he summoned a dressing gown, wrapped it around himself, and allowed himself to sink into sleep.

***


	2. Rumors are terrible and cruel;but honey, most of them are true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione agrees to be interviewed for the Quibbler and things don't quite go as planned. Ft yet more vomiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been attending university since my last, long-ago update, and have been urged to experiment with different writing styles; if the chapter seems a little out of sync with my last one, that's why.

    The last time Hermione had seen Xenophilius Lovegood, she’d been amazed he was still able to breathe. He’d be clothed only in rags, and his limbs – skeletal, with skin so pale it was almost translucent – had been protruding out of the discoloured linen, trembling. His hair, had sat in tiny, cloud-like clumps atop his head. His eyes had been icy, grey pools. Glazed over; unmoved.

    That had been when Hermione had travelled with Luna to witness her father’s pardoning, and removal from Azkaban. He had widened out considerably since then, and with a slight rosy tint to his face, and his hair regrown, he appeared to be recovering. With his usual mustard yellow robes returned to him, and his body reclining leisurely across a silken violet hammock, (of course, hanging from nothing, and simply floating in mid-air), he seemed to be at home in the newly built offices of The Quibbler.  
He caught Hermione’s gaze, apology etched across his face in the way it had been since she had arrived. Hermione smiled awkwardly in return, knowing that though herself, Harry, and Ronald had all forgiven Xenophilius for his previous actions, he had not yet forgiven himself. The pair remained silent until Luna returned, with several potions of various colours orbiting her.  
    “I don’t know what drink you wanted, Hermione,” Luna’s voice, as always, projected an ethereal presence, “So I brought them all.”  
With a dainty flick of her wand, the liquids all slowly travelled to the large sundial in the middle of the room. Given the stack of plates in the centre of the instrument, and the copious amounts of parchment spread over it, it served as both a dining table and desk also. Hermione eyed the liquids wearily.  
“Take one.” Luna instructed, “You’re feeling nervous about this interview, and a drink will make you feel better.” Hermione raised her eyebrows.  
    “How did you-“  
    “The nargles. They can sense it. There are more of them around you than usual.” Luna gestured at a shimmering lilac drink in a test-tube, waving it towards Hermione’s hands. She paused, before repeating herself.  
“Drink.”  
Hermione interiorly considered the likelihood of being poisoned by the Lovegoods for a moment, before complying.  
    She felt like champagne. That was the only way to describe it. She felt sparkling and giddy, and certainly ready to pop if she didn’t – right now – tell Luna and her father all of her secrets.  
    “I used to secretly trade my sugar-free sweets for Mars Bars in primary school –“ She began, “ – I used to spend ages in the bath, because I was certain I was a mermaid, and my tail would appear if I stayed in the water long enough; I once accidentally turned my goldfish into a shark pup; I once wished my mum would shut up and for a week she couldn’t speak; I first masturbated in my bed at Hogwarts-“  
Hermione’s hand slammed over her mouth abruptly, clamping it shut. That is enough, her mind was screaming at her, struggling to regain composure. She opened her mouth slightly, and with her forehead wobbling in concentration, managed to grunt out only two words.  
“Truth. Serum?”  
Luna’s eyes, already wide from Hermione’s latest confession, were concerned.  
    “I’m not sure… I just sort of, mixed ingredients together… nothing harmful, of course.”  
    “So like your mother.” Xenophilius interjected, smiling fondly.  
Frowning in frustration, Hermione managed a further two words.  
    “How. Long?”  
    “Will the effects last?” Luna prompted, to be met with a curt nod from Hermione. “I’m not sure; not too long, I’d expect… At most a month, I’m certain.”  
With Hermione biting down on her tongue, the trio sat in silence for a while.  
    “Well then,” Xenophilius’ voice was as sunny as his daughter’s as he broke the silence, “Shall we begin with the questions?”  
    “Daddy!” Luna’s laugh was a tinkling one, “It’s not ethical to interview Hermione when she can’t control her answers!”  
    “Oh.” Xenophilius sounded put out. “But our new demographic –“ He paused, turning to Hermione in explanation, “- Of course, people are much more willing to accept the truth about snap fleeches now that they know we weren’t lying about Voldemort –“ now back to Luna, “They all want the sort of human information that Ms Granger just disclosed. That sort of gossip is exactly the kind of thing that will keep us going, dear daughter, because it appeals. We could- we could send Ms Granger a copy of it.”  
He turned back to Hermione, his eyes pleading.  
“How about that? We’ll ask specific questions, so you don’t have to reveal more than you wish to, and we’ll send you a transcript of your answers before publishing… you can tell us what to scratch out?”  
    Hermione sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. She trusted Luna and her father, and she could scarcely keep her mouth shut regardless, but she would feel forever awkward with the pair knowing her deepest secrets. She rubbed at her temple in frustration, and finally, aware of the weight what felt like countless eyes, she nodded.  
***  
_Thank Goodness_ , Rita thought, _for beaurocratic incompetence_. The confusion surrounding the war, and the mountains of work that it had created, had ensured that stretched out ministry workers had been all too willing to turn blind eyes to her non-compliance with renewed orders surrounding animagus registry. She felt once more in her element, her tiny figure hovering above the trio.  
Though she had to, (for what credibility would she have otherwise?), respect the Granger girl for her role in taking down you-know-who, resentment still struck inside of her whenever she read her name, or saw her face. This had been worsened further by the decline in Prophet sales. How do you smear a girl when nobody’s reading what you write?  
But this – she felt a greedy satisfaction evoke inside of her at this. The readers would flock back to this. ‘GOLDEN PRINCESS PRACTICED PLEASURE AT HOGWARTS!’, the headlines would scream, ‘GRYFFINDOR GIRL GAGGING FOR GUYS SAYS RITA SKEETER’S NEW EXPOSÉ!’.  
Leisurely rising to the ceiling, Rita sighed, securing her grip on the room’s wooden beams, and settling it for the interview.  
***  
    “Any love interests since your NEWTS, Hermione?”  
    “Daddy!” Luna protested, for the second time that hour, “Would you ask that question if Hermione were a wizard, and not a witch?” Her chin jutted out, and Hermione frowned; irritation didn’t suit Luna.  
    “Well,” Her father began to hastily recover himself, “There’s no point asking Mr Potter, given that we covered his wedding ceremony. And as for Mr Weasley-“  
    “DracoMalfoy.” It came as one word, and Hermione’s lips, again, slammed shut. Her cheeks felt as though they were burning now; she could feel Luna’s eyebrows raise, so high that Hermione was surprised she couldn’t hear them hitting the ceiling.  
    “Draco Malfoy? As in…” Xenophilius’ forehead creased as though attempting to solve an especially difficult riddle, “Son of death eater, Lucius Malfoy? As in, locked in his basement, starving to death, Draco Malfoy?” Hermione nodded meekly, and then, as apologetically as she was able to in just three words, she furthered,  
    “He’s nice now.” His eyebrows rose just as high as his daughter’s, knitting together in utter confusion as Hermione squirmed awkwardly in front of him. There was a pause, as the surprise settled on the pair, and stagnated, before Luna sighed in exasperation.  
    “Well, if that’s who you like, that’s who you like. You can’t help it, I suppose. And he did seem better, once he’d returned. He didn’t once call me anything negative; did he ever call you mudblood?” Hermione shook her head mutely. Xenophilius seemed to have recovered slightly, and though he was still frowning, he turned to her kindly and asked,  
    “I suppose you don’t want this to be included in the print-up?” Again, a mute nod from Hermione, not trusting herself to open her mouth.  
    “We’ll just include him as an unknown interest,” Luna quipped, smiling. Hermione managed a weak smile back.  
The interview continued in a similarly excruciatingly embarrassing fashion, but, assured in the knowledge that Draco’s anonymity would be persevered, the blush gradually faded from Hermione’s face, in time with the serum that was prompting her. Eventually, she found herself able to speak in whole sentences. As the experience ended, she felt almost relieved, to have got all of this off her chest; she had been thinking about Malfoy on much too often a basis to be simply professional courtesy – she knew that he too now worked for the ministry – especially given the nature of her thoughts. And if nothing else came of the interview, at least she could be satisfied that Ronald would know that she wasn’t merely sat in her flat, sobbing into Crookshanks’ fur. She left the Quibbler offices contentedly, swatting at a bothersome fly as it buzzed by her ear, seeming to race her out the door.  
***  
    “Hermione? Hermione, wake up!”  
Hermione shot bolt upright, her feet shoving out of the side of the duvet, and into some unknown being, lurking in the dark.  
“Ow!” A quiet cursing came from the being, before it muttered, “Lumos!”  
Luna’s face shone out of the darkness in Hermione’s bedroom, her eyes glinting in the eerie light of the wand. Hermione sighed, the blood returning to her face, and reached for the deluminater by her bed side. Ronald had asked her if she knew where it was after they’d broken up, but she’d lied. It seemed fitting, given that he seemed to take all of the light out of her world when he left, that she should keep it. She flicked it dazedly, and the room was suddenly bright. Luna pocketed her wand, and it was only then, when Hermione could fully appreciate the look on her friend’s face, that she was able to tell that something was wrong.  
    “What is it, Luna?” She felt her joints tense in preparation, ready to spring out of the bed, ready to grab the bag of essentials she always kept prepared, ready to run away from the flat, and away from the magical world, and never return.  
    “Have you seen the newspapers today?” Luna’s lips were turned downwards, and Hermione felt her own face reflect the expression.  
    “The newspapers? You mean the Quibbler? No, I haven’t, why…? Oh! It’s the release of my interview, isn’t it?” Luna nodded grimly, and Hermione frowned. “Well… what’s wrong then? You did – you did remove Malfoy’s name, didn’t you?” No longer tired, the brunette felt instantly awake. She pulled the duvet around herself protectively. Again, Luna nodded, before speaking in a broken, hoarse voice.  
    “I don’t know how she did it, Hermione. But she did.” Hermione frowned, and opened her mouth, but Luna was already answering, “Rita Skeeta – the, the Daily Prophet – they printed the interview. All of it. I don’t know how they got a hold of it, because only me and Daddy knew where the transcript was being kept, but they have. And they haven’t removed any of it, Hermione. It’s all there.”  
    Hermione was pushing Luna out of the way, her face blanching as she stumbled the last few steps to the toilet, the nausea rising like a balloon through her body. She fell to her knees, with every ounce of stomach acid within her racing to resurface, burning her throat as it did so. She was aware of Luna, speaking to her through the door, but she was also aware she didn’t want to hear anything that had been said, and when she didn’t come in, presumed that somewhere within herself, her body had known to lock the door behind her. She lay on the cold, tiled floor for what felt like hours, her mind blindly racing through everything she had said in the interview. They knew, then – all of the wizarding community – when she first touched herself, and she felt certain she recollected something about what Victor Krum had done to her towards the end of the interview, and then of course, embroiled amongst it all, there was Draco. They all knew how she felt about him. Had she told Luna’s dad how it happened? She couldn’t recall. Her mind was a mess. Eventually, she felt herself fall asleep, her mind having exhausted itself back into slumber.  
***  
    When she awoke, an hour or so later, she was only vaguely aware of having been lifted up off the bathroom floor, and carried back to her bed. She inverted into the pillows, treasuring their softness as her eyes fought to open. As they did, she caught sight of the dark figure behind her, and absent-mindedly mumbled at Luna – heart-sinking as she remembered what had happened – to go home, and leave her be. The figure didn’t move, and Hermione became disoriented as she instead heard Luna’s voice at the end of the bed.  
“It’s not me, Hermione.,,”  
Startled, she forced her eyes open, and the dark figure hazed into view.  
“Well, at least it wasn't on me this time." Draco Malfoy smiled down at her.


End file.
